


A Frankly Alarming Shade of Pink

by okapi



Series: Your Extra Time and Your Kiss [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fem!John - Freeform, Fem!Lestrade, Fem!Sherlock, Fem!mycroft, Femslash, Genderswap, Jealous Sherlock, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, Male!Mrs. Hudson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:10:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1503194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock finds lipstick on John's collar. All genderswapped. </p><p>Inspired by Stargazer <a href="http://www.stargazer-products.com/listings/?id=4&sub_id=46">Glitter Lipstick in Pink</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Frankly Alarming Shade of Pink

_Lipstick_. A frankly alarming shade of pink. With _glitter_. On the collar attached to John Watson’s shirt that was not attached to John Watson, but rather lying at the bottom of the stairs to John Watson’s bedroom.

Shoes and socks were strewn nearby, obviously toed off carelessly in a very un-John-Watson-like _haste_.

There was the faintest hint of _perfume,_ a pungently floral, celebrity-named fragrance that—before this moment—Sherlock would have archived in her Mind Palace under Things that May Induce Nausea in John Watson.

Sherlock stepped silently toward the kitchen. No signs of tea. _No tea_.

“Hee-hee-hee!”

Sherlock froze at the sound of John Watson being highly amused at something or someone.

_Giggling!_

_John thinks she has the flat to herself._

Nothing about this evening was as predicted. The technicians at the Royal Veterinary College had not proved as tractable as the ones at Bart’s. Sherlock had been thwarted in varied attempts to obtain the porcine specimens she needed to examine the effects of sharp thoracic trauma on the rate and pattern of decomposition. It was infuriating considering that she had already worked out a Plan A and a Plan B for transporting the eight pigs back to the flat and explaining their presence to John. On the taxi ride home, frustrated with her aborted experiment, Sherlock had determined that the only way to salvage the night was to crawl into John Watson’s bed, spoon behind a deliciously pliant John Watson, and steal her warmth. She had no doubt that John would be back from Sarah Sawyer’s Hen Night early.

 _And she was_.

_Lipstick. Glitter. Haste. Perfume. No tea. Giggling._

John Watson was upstairs shagging a woman—that is, a _girl_ —who was not Sherlock.

There was only one appropriate reaction.

_Let’s start with the riding crop._

As Sherlock marched to her bedroom, images of the activities upstairs flooded her mind. The girl in John’s bed, John tucked at her side, making jokes to put the girl at ease, gentle fingertips brushing the girl’s hair out of her face, pushing it behind her ear, tracing her pink, pouty, sparkly lips.

_You like that?_

_Beautiful._

_How about this?_

_Lovely._

By the time Sherlock returned with the riding crop firmly in hand, the John of Sherlock’s imagination was groaning around mouthful of pert breast.

Sherlock burned white-hot. She bounded up the stairs, flung the bedroom door open, and stormed in, crop poised to strike.

She stopped short. Her fury turned to surprise.

There was no one in the room but John.

John’s surprise turned to _fury_.

She leapt from the bed, launching herself at Sherlock, shoving the detective backwards. John’s mobile clattered to the floor.

“ _SHERLOCK! HOLMES! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?! FOR THE VERY LAST TIME, THIS IS MY PRIVATE SPACE! TO SHARE OR NOT AS I SEE FIT! GET OUT!_ ”

A tiny Detective-Inspector-of-Scotland-Yard voice sounded from the floor.

“Uh-oh. Talk to you tomorrow, John.”

_Click!_

John pushed Sherlock out the door.

_SLAM!_

_Knock, kno-_

The door opened as angrily as it had closed.

_“YES?!”_

“But, John…” Sherlock pointed down the stairs to the discarded clothing. Then, she realized she was pointing with the crop and dropped it behind her. She shuffled quickly down the stairs, scooped up the shirt, and brought it back to John. She held the collar out.

“Pink!” cried Sherlock.

“Yeah, I know. One of Sarah’s very young, very married bridesmaids decided to get very pissed, very quickly and ‘try lezzie on’. With me!”

John brushed past Sherlock and retrieved her shoes and socks.

She climbed back up, muttering “I don’t let _you_ experiment on me; I’m bloody well not going to let some _child_ do it.” John lined the shoes neatly under the bed and threw the socks in a wicker basket in the corner.

She looked at the shirt in Sherlock’s hands. “I’m half-tempted to bin that shirt. It reeks. Ugh! Makes me want to vomit. I don’t know if even Mr. Hudson can get that awful stain out.”

Sherlock smiled, then frowned.

“But John…?”

“Come on, I’m dying for a cuppa,” said John as she headed back down the stairs, “You can tell me what happened to the pigs—yeah, I know about that, Sherlock. And I will tell you about my night. Big news!”

Sherlock was still frowning as she picked up the riding crop and followed John, “You first…”

John stopped and turned to stare at her.

“Really? How chivalrous! Are you well?” she teased. Sherlock gave her a fake smile. John smirked but continued down the stairs.

“Well, the Hen Night was as dreadful as you predicted. God, I wish you had been there to sit in the corner and deduce all kinds of awful things about those women.” They reached the sitting room. Sherlock hung her coat on a hook and turned into John’s sudden embrace.

“I missed you, love.” John nuzzled Sherlock’s neck.

_Warmth. John._

And, then, she was gone, headed to the kitchen. Sherlock threw the riding crop in her armchair.

“And after the encounter with Miss Sparkle Lips, I said my good-byes as quickly as possible.” John filled the kettle with water, set it on the stove, and turned the stove on. Sherlock joined her in the kitchen and held the offending shirt above the rubbish bin with a raised eyebrow. John nodded.

_Good-bye, Miss Sparkle Lips._

“Got home. Wanted nothing more than to get that nasty shirt off me. But the minute I did, Lestrade phoned.” John took down two mugs and the tea tin. Sherlock sat at the kitchen table.

_And…_

“And…” John turned to look wide-eyed at Sherlock. Sherlock watched with wonder as twenty years dropped from her lover’s face.

_And…_

“ _Mycroft asked her out for coffee!_ ”

John grinned wildly and hopped up and down. She giggled. Like a schoolgirl.

_How delightfully…_

_…boring._

“So you can see why I was supremely distracted.”

“No.”

John gave her the Look. “This is very exciting, Sherlock. Tell me about the pigs quickly because I want to sit down and do an in-depth analysis of this Mycroft-Lestrade thing with you.”

“And I wish to teach you the proper use of the word _analysis_.”

John closed the space between them until her nose almost touched Sherlock’s.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and continued,“I propose that we do both in bed.” She pressed a kiss to John’s lips.

“After…,” John returned the kiss, “…tea.”

The kettle began to hiss softly.

“Naturally."

 


End file.
